Introducing . . .

So when I planned out writing everyday for the summer, one of the things I really wanted to do was introduce folks who read/might read my blog to the amazing Cast of Characters that makes up my life.  I am incredibly blessed by the people I get to share my world with.  They are passionate, silly, creative, loyal, adventurous, loving, honest, and a host of other wonderful things.  I know that sometimes when I go to write about something that has happened in my life, the story would be so much richer if the folks reading it only knew the people I shared the experience with.

And of course, everything is compounded by my tendency to use pet names and nicknames instead of people's actual names, which can make things confusing.  I do it to protect people's identities and stories, so they can choose what they want the whole interweb to know about them: as so very many of the people in my life are performers and artists, what happens when you search them online becomes very important to their very livelihood!  I would never want to take away any sense of control they have over that.  So. . . I use nicknames.  I'm really excited by the idea of introducing these amazing people so there are faces, stories, and personalities attached to the nicknames and pseudo-names in the blog.

Without any further ado, here is my first Introduction!  Who better to start with than Boyfriend?

  

{This is him & I on Christmas Eve 2011}

I'm not entirely sure how to fit everything about him - and us - into one post.  At least not one post that's a length anyone wants to read!  We met in a gym. Yup. A gym.  He was going to the gym with his at-the-time-roommate and I was teaching a kids martial arts class in one of the rooms.  It wasn't exactly love at first sight - he wanted information on classes, and became a student long before becoming my Boyfriend.  

Then The Summer happened - The Summer when me, Mum, Sissy, and the Kid (my little brother, for those not in the know) grabbed our dog and all the things we held most dear and fled.  We left the house I'd spent everyday of my life in, the house Kid was born, the house where we'd all been abused and traumatized for 20 years. . . and we fled the state.  During this time of crisis not-yet-Boyfriend was the truest, the loyalist, and the dearest of friends, talking to me everyday at every opportunity, cheering me up as I tried to face the unknown with courage.  Eventually he and I were in the same state again, and we began spending almost everyday together.  Baseball games, watching movies, perusing bookstores. . . couple stuff. But see, I'd never been (gasp) part of a couple before, and I didn't realize what was going on until the night we first kissed.

Then I figured it out.  Duh, Lela.  Duh.

It's been almost three years since then, and Boyfriend is also Best Friend, geek out buddy, shoulder to cry on, protector, and other assorted ridiculous roles that I, a ridiculous person, require filled.

He is more conservative than I am - politically, emotionally, socially.  Tall and dark, he doesn't often jump into conversation and rarely makes waves.  He's a martial artist by passion (and hopeful career) a computer science geek by major, and a musician by talent.  He's my Anchor - my home base, my safety.  He reminds me I have to stop and sleep, that I can't survive on Luna Bars, water, and air, that smelling the roses is in fact a necessity.  He demands of me that I stick up for myself the way I've always stuck up for others, and promises shelter and nurturing in arms that are strong and always ready to receive me.  I am his Adventure, dragging him from the house, insisting he try new things, finding the edges of the comfort zone and then dancing just beyond them.  I introduce him to new foods, museums and musicals and colorful, exuberant people.  We balance and push and expand each other, filling in the little crevices that make us more whole.

I love his dark eyes and his black hair that has the subtlest red sheen in the summer sunlight.  His strong hands that rub my back and have never failed to open the door, laced across the back with tiny thin white scars and callused on the palm/fingers but often playing with his toddler brother.  I love his expansive families that love me too, and the fact that there was never a day I've been with him where I was worried I had to be anything other than myself.  I love the sound of him fiddling on his guitar with more skills than people who call themselves "musicians," write songs and the way he knows the lyrics to "Grease," and loves the composition of "The Phantom of the Opera," but his favorite bands include "Megadeath," and "Coheed and Cambria."

Simply put, when I am with him, I'm home. And there is no better place to be.